IN THE WEST LONDON HOSPITAL--AFTER THE OPERATION
Where am I? Light green walls! Let me see. Ah, this must be the life
class of Hopkins’ Art School in San Francisco! A shadowy figure is
staring at me! Who is that? Hullo, she is not quite a stranger to me. I
know I saw her somewhere else before! “Oh, don’t smack my face like
that!”
“No. 12, can’t you recognize me? I am your nurse. You are back to our
ward-room now. I have brought you in.”
Why! of course it was our “Accident Ward”! I saw the clock hands
pointing 6.10 P.M. One hour must have passed!
However fast I sleep, I can always realize about how long I have slept.
But this magical death was entirely different thing to me. I did not
feel there was even a few seconds in this blank one hour.
I asked the nurse, “When shall I be operated?”
She said, “Your operation is finished.”
No sooner than I was told “your operation is finished,” I began to feel
something at the operated part. First I felt a large piece of ice was
fixed there. Then I felt it was a hard wooden board, and some one was
striking the back of this board so hard with an iron hammer--bang, bang,
bang!--as many times as my heart beated. Only a few minutes later these
sounds were changed into pain! Oh, this was really painful. Who shall
say toothaches are the most painful? Comparing toothaches with this pain
is just same to compare Serpentine Lake with Atlantic Ocean.
The ancient Chinese poets often said “My pain is as great as if my
intestine was cut off.” I realized how good expression this was.
Just the moment I was getting into my own senses the porter brought in a
letter. It was from one of my Japanese friends. I had read it nearly
half, then the nurses came and snatched it away, saying it was not the
time for me to read any letter.
How much were my lungs saturated with the ether? On my every breath I
felt the pure strong ether was coming out, and I wondered if my lungs
themselves were brewing ether.
The night was dreadful. I could not see anything in darkness, so all my
nerves were concentrated to the pain. I told the night nurse that only
if the electric above my bed was lit I could bear the pain much easier,
but the nurse said it was the law of that hospital that all the lights
should be put off in night. The tender-hearted nurse came to me so many
times to soothe me down. I thought if I groaned loud it might take away
a little of this pain. Shall I try it? Oh, no! I am a Japanese. Peoples
would say a Japanese cried in the hospital. What a disgraceful rumor
might be spread out all over! So I laughed. However, the nurse knew how
painful I was. She fetched the attendant doctor in and he injected my
arm. It did not affect me at all. He tried twice again, only they were
ineffectual every time.
The dawn came. The first bus and wagons passed by. The traffic outside
the building was getting thicker. The window-curtains were raised up and
the day nurses came. I began to forget my pain a great deal. But I could
not move a bit yet. Warm milk was given to me in a feeding-cup. A nurse
poured it down into my mouth. I think I had only warm milk or tea for
about a whole week.
I had a friend to whom I used to write a letter every day. Only this day
I was obliged to stop my letter-writing for whole day.
The night came again, and my pain was as bad as before. A terrible
sleepless night again. I was counting every minute to hear the first bus
pass the building.
On the Saturday morning, after a milk breakfast, I felt so tired and
began to sleep at last. I was awakened by the nurse to have a beef-tea
luncheon, and I found out my pain was much subsided.
A poor man covered with all sorts of rags was brought in to No. 1. He
was accompanied by his poor old wife. The wife was weeping. It must be a
serious case. The man was sent to the “theater” about six o’clock, and
he was brought in on a wheeled couch to his bed again. A screen was put
around the bed. A doctor and a day nurse remained inside the screen for
a few minutes. I heard the wife crying.
They all came out quite soon, and I saw him through the screen. He was
covered with a white sheet. It was just like that picture of George
Watts’ in Tate Gallery. The porter came to put him on a stretcher. All
was covered with black cloth. I understood he was dead.
This night I had intervals sleep, but I was awakened by the pain so
often, and I saw the nurse sometimes standing by side of my bed, and
sometimes stealing herself away so quietly. Was she watching me while I
was sleeping? I worshiped her back with all my heart. Tender and gentle
angel was she to me!
Next day was the visiting day again. I had already many letters from my
friends promising to visit me, so I was counting every minute from the
morning. I believe every patient did the same with me except that
“Rossetti’s Boy.” He was sitting up on the pillow. I saw a big
crystal-like tear on his both eyes. They were getting bigger and bigger.
Then his eyelids could not hold them any longer. They flowed down on his
very pale cheeks, and the next tear-balls were ready on his eyes again.
Every time when the tears passed over his cheeks his tiny sharp lips
quivered so unconsciously. It was just like a lotus leaf with the
morning dews.
Why was he so sad? On the last visiting day I saw him spoilt by his
mother, who had brought some toys and picture-books. Couldn’t his mother
come this time? I learnt from the nurse that the poor boy was told to be
sent to the theater again, so he could not be able to see his mother. I
was so sorry for him!
Three P.M. at last! The entrance door was open for the visitors. Some
half-dozen of my very best friends came. It was the rule of the hospital
that not more than two persons were allowed to see the patients at the
same time, and the visiting hour was only one hour. I was so sorry to
say good-bye so soon to the first visitors, yet I wanted to see the next
comers as soon as possible. I did not know what to do. They all were the
quite regular visitors to me on every Sundays and Wednesdays. Among
these regular visitors was Mr. Lapsley. He is the owner of a
public-house called “A Bunch of Grapes” in Brompton Road. I used to go
to his bar occasionally to study the English life. But certainly I could
not be his profitable customer, because it was only once or twice in a
fortnight that I could afford myself to visit his bar. But one of those
evenings he came to me and wanted to speak, as I “was the most sober
customer.” I wanted to buy a package of cigarettes from him. He wouldn’t
sell me any cigarette. He said, “Cigarette is very bad for health.” He
ran out of doors and came back in a few minutes. He brought me such a
beautiful pipe, and offered me his own tobacco, and taught me how to
bite a pipe. Ever since I have become a pipe-smoker, and I noticed that
was so much better for my health.
Now, hearing that I was in the hospital, he visited on me so regularly.
It was all his hearty kindness, because I myself had done nothing to
him.
So many beautiful flowers were sent to me from all my friends almost
every day. The nurses were delighted with them, and said they have never
seen before such luxury of flowers.
About a week after my operation a little fish supper was given to me at
last. This was the very first solid meal for me. On the night I had such
a terrible nightmare. I dreamed all my bed-clothes were in flame, so I
screamed. The nurse hurried up to me and put her hand on my forehead to
see my temperature, and I was awakened. I told her about my nightmare.
She said, “Oh, that was so much better. I thought you were seriously ill
again. You know, No. 12, you often speak all your secrets in your
dreams.” I was so astonished and shy of myself. But she said, “Never
mind, we nurses never repeat what the patients speak in their dreams.”
That made me feel easy.
But the next day I was really very poorly, and I fainted. Strange to
say, that on the moment I was going to be fainted, I had exactly same
mental vision as when I decided to commit suicide. I saw so plainly
those portraits of my families and best friends.
They thought any solid meals were too early for me, and I had to have
only warm milk and tea for two days more.
As I was getting better little by little every day I began to observe
everything that was going on in the room. Some convalescents were sent
away and new patients were brought in immediately on the same bed. That
poor man on No. 9, who had the trouble with his left foot, was not
getting on satisfactorily at all, and the doctors decided to amputate
his leg altogether. He was sent to the theater one morning, and when he
came back to his bed and got into his conscience he groaned like a lion,
and he shouted, “Oh dear, oh dear; I am damned, I am damned!”
The nurse hurried up to his side and put her hand on his mouth. But his
groaning voice escaped through her fingers. Strange to say, No. 8 was an
old man whose left foot was amputated at the same time. Those two old
men had a race. Every morning when the attendant doctor and nurses
untied their bandages, I used to watch them through the screen. It was
very interesting to notice their progress. First their feet looked more
like a goose ready to cook. Their flesh and skin was tied together with
some cords. Gradually the skins were closing together, and then they
were quite healed. They looked like an old man’s bald head then. The men
were sent away after that.
One midnight a patient was brought into No. 1 bed. He was a dreadful
stutterer, and such a terrible deaf! The doctors and nurses used to
write all that they wanted to tell him. Afterwards I learnt from a nurse
that he was so deaf, that while he was walking somewhere about East
Sheen, a motor came alarming its horn, but he could not hear that, so he
was overrun by the motor. He had compound fracture on his both legs, and
his chest had some bad injury too. On that night the porter brought in
something like a big ladder, which they fixed on the back of the bed,
and the doctor tied up a long tray on the patient’s legs, and with many
cords they were hung to that ladder. It took over two hours, and the
patient was screaming all the time. I thought it was such a job for all
the doctors and nurses. I sat up on my bed and watched all the process.
The nurse came and said, “You naughty boy, you mustn’t do that. Lay
yourself down and sleep. The doctor will be very cross with you.” But I
was such a fox. No sooner than the nurse went away I began to sit up
again. The nurse came to put me down more than once again. But Dr.
Baldwin smiled at me, and said, “Are you interested with our work?”
That was such a good constitution, for the nurses never said anything
when I watched that treatment next time.
Every morning after my temperature was registered, on a tablet which was
hung on the wall above my bed, it was my greatest amusement to look at
that list. The marks of the temperature were made twice a day, and it
looked like the weather forecast of the _Daily Telegraph_.
One day a new attendant doctor came; he was very fair, and was such a
gentle young fellow. He had some strong odor of chloroform. I said to
him, “I suppose you are working in the theater all day. Don’t you think
you might shorten your own life by inhaling the ether and chloroform
every day?”
He smiled so tenderly, and shook my hand, and said, “No, Mr. Markino,
you need not be afraid of that. If I go and get fresh air I shall be
quite all right. It doesn’t affect my life at all. Only the peoples who
worry in their daily life shall surely shorten their life.”
Alas, I wondered how many peoples in this world could have the natural
length of their life! There are so many poor who are worrying in their
daily life every day, and what this doctor said is quite true. Look at
those youngsters in the poor districts, and if you ask their ages, you
would be much surprised. Their faces are so worn-out; sometimes
twenty-five-year-old woman looks more than forty, or even elder. It is
not only the poor people who have worryings; there are so many rich
people who worry even more than the poor. What is the general cause of
human worrying? Is there one word in which you can answer this question?
Yes, there is. It is selfishness. One’s selfishness is enough to make
hundreds of peoples worry! Then, not only that, but there are many
peoples who worry themselves all through their own selfishness. Indeed,
this world is full of the disgusting odor of selfishness, and there are
many poor weak-hearted victims who are made unconscious by this odor,
and never come back to life again.
One morning, about sixteen days after my operation, Dr. Baldwin came to
see me. I remembered his letter quite well. He had said “about two weeks
or thereabout to be in the hospital.” Now it was over two weeks. So I
asked him how many days more should I be in the hospital. He said, “At
least two weeks more.” It was such a great disappointing to me. This
time he has so grossly deceived me. But remembering how I did deceive
him about the name of my illness, I freely forgave him, and he laughed
at my idea.
I wrote to my friend how I was disheartened by this delay, and next
morning I got an answer. “Where is your philosophy, then? It is not yet
the time for you to count the days. What you ought to do now is to
observe everything in your ward-room and write your diary, which we may
publish some day.” So I obeyed my friend’s advice.
A constable came in his uniform. He was sent to an operation, and came
back quite unconscious to No. 2 bed. He must have only a slight illness,
for he got convalescent so soon. One morning a maid-servant came into
our ward-room to scrub the floor. The constable was very frivolous with
her, and they two made such noises. The nurse was very cross with the
maid, and sent her out at once. But the nurse did not say a single word
to him; and the worst thing was that the constable did not seem to be
ashamed! I remember more than one of my English lady friends said to me,
“If men don’t behave themselves well, it is always woman’s fault.”
It is very, very modest of John Bullesses. But I really think men ought
to control their animal passions fairly well too.
No. 6 was a middle-aged man. He must be serious, for all his families
were summoned on an ordinary day--I mean not visiting day. A screen was
put around the bed. I could not see him as well, as his bed was the
farthest one, but on the same evening the porter carried away his corpse
on a wheeled stretcher and passed by my side.
A young sailor came in one day. When his operation was done, he was put
in No. 5 bed. When he got into his conscience it was such an exhibition!
He threw away all the bed-clothes, and stood up on his bed. The nurses
put him down again and covered him with the bed-clothes, which he threw
off again and again. He swung his fists all round. The cupboard was
tumbled over, and the chair feet were broken. He shouted, “Don’t ye know
I am a boxer?”
The nurses were quite frightened. He began to call his girl’s name, then
he began to sing loudly all those vulgar songs. It was no more a Holy
Mountain, but a regular Bank Holiday.
A doctor was sent for, and he injected morphine on the sailor’s arm.
That made him go quietly to sleep.
All the patients laughed at him. But I rather sympathized with him. He
was a sailor--a follower of Nelson. He must have had a great pain; I
know it by my own experience, only a few weeks ago. And as he was too
proud to cry, so surely he acted like that to lessen his own pain!
England is safe as long as she has such an innocent, child-like sailor!
June 13, Thursday. Dr. Baldwin came to examine me, and said, “You can
get up.” I was so happy. At 5.30 P.M. I got up and put on my Japanese
kimono. Everybody was very curious of that. I felt as if a quite round
ball was grown on my heel, and I had a great difficulty to keep the
equilibrium to walk. I was nearly going to fall down again and again. My
“Rossetti’s Boy” was so anxious. “No. 12, you must go back to your bed!”
I imitated purposely as if I could not walk at all, and he was so
excited.
After the supper it was my great pleasure to help the nurses to wash the
dishes. The next morning, soon after my temperature was taken, I got up
to serve the breakfast to all the patients, and wash the dishes, then
to help the night nurse to make all the patients’ beds. The day nurses
were surprised when they came in to see everything was already done. At
luncheon and tea and supper I was a waiter as well as dish-washer. The
next morning I learnt how to make beds for those serious patients. Then
I helped the nurses even to do some unclean jobs.
Some patients told me, “Your hands is so soft, and your treatment is as
tender as a nurse.” I was awfully pleased with these flattering words.
My Rossetti’s Boy was very fond of me because I used to carry him to the
garden. He was as light as a newspaper. A new patient came into No. 11
bed. He was rather seriously ill, and he could not write, so I used to
write what he dictated to me. All his letters were for his Missus. I
have learnt a great deal about a John Bull’s affection toward his
Missus!
One of the nurses told me if I was a woman I could be a very good nurse.
These flattering words I could not so easily accept, for there was a man
on No. 8. His nature was rather greedy. The more I did to him the more
he expected from me. It was only five days, but during this short time I
began to get tired of him. In fact, I hated him in my heart, only I did
not show my feeling to him. I thought how difficult it must be to be a
nurse. I tried all the day to control myself, but I am sure that the
night nurse knew that. For she often said to me, “No. 12, don’t bother
about the patients any more. Your breakfast is getting quite cold. Go
back to your bed and eat!”
I remember Mr. Spielmann told me that “great heroes are humble slaves to
the public. So the King is the humblest slave of the nation after all.”
I must say, nurses are the greatest and noblest heroines. If all the
diplomatists of a country were as humble slaves to the nation as those
hospital nurses, how flourishing that country would be! If all the women
were just like these nurses, I decidedly agree with the suffragettes.
But I think the noble slaves of the gentle and fairer sex should not be
so rough to box the policemen or throw the stones to the window glasses!
On June 18th I had to say good-bye to all those kind sisters and nurses
and those pathetic patients, and I drove a cab to Mr. Sladen’s house,
which was so near to the hospital. When I came back to Sydney Street,
some flowers as well as a few Japanese friends of mine were awaiting
me.